Today has been a long day. I woke up feeling decidedly down at heel, which is never nice. I was just in one of those things Americans would describe as a “funk”. Here in the north of England I’d be described as a mardy bastard. I struggled to shift my mood all day. I decided to indulge myself so went out at lunch time and bought supplies. A piping bag and an ice-cream scoop. The former to ice, the latter to regulate size. That’s a trick Ina taught me over many episodes of Barefoot Contessa where she has made cupcakes or muffins. It works, to an extent.
So today I iced cakes with a piping bag for the first time. I’m not sure to the greatest of successes but still, I tried. I will have to work on this skill. It will come, I’m sure. The steady hand is key, as is direction. I was working my way round the rim of the cake with hands squeezing the bag like I was wringing the neck of a stubborn goose. This lead to some weird pocket of icing in-between, which I had to work down, which I then worked back up again, then worked back down again. It was relentless and infuriating, so I had to work on using my lower hand as a guide not to wring the bag. Very exciting step taken today, let’s see how I advance.
Body pump was supposed to spark me out my mood this morning but was no help. It was taught by the girl who witters inanely and inaudibly for the entirety of the class. I mean, truly useless shit she spouts. No one can hear, no one cares. Well, apart from the weird girl who faces her and seems in love with her in a girl crush non lesbian way. Weird girl looks like the result of a cloning experiment sourcing the DNA of Sue Pollard and Gollum. Truly odd. After the withering gym class, I got into work to be faced by the withering workmate from hell, who did not stop until I left. I endured ten hours of drivel. Pure unadulterated bollocks. My lunchtime trip to the kitchenware departments of TK Maxx and John Lewis were journeys to salvation rather than anything else. Then I popped along to Marks and Spencer and guess who was buying a New York Deli Pastrami on Rye, pasta salad and packet of Crisps? John Simm! Yes, of Human Traffic, Life on Mars, Doctor Who and The Lakes fame. I love it that the express queue in Marks is my celeb spotting central. Previously it was Nigel Harman, whose credit card was declined, and now it’s Sam Tyler from Life on Mars. Although to be fair I saw him previously at the V Festival, so in my head we mix in the same circles. Albeit the same circles is just society in general, but I like to delude myself.
Dinner was a turkey caesar salad. Nice. Quick, seeing as I was all cooked out by the time I had to prepare tea. Now I’m just shattered, and have barely sat down. It’s a good Job I’m busy blogging these days, otherwise my mind would turn to mush. And my legs would have buckled. Ok my brain would have been mush flavoured with 1/4 teaspoon of good vanilla, but it would have been mush nonetheless. My persistence saves my sanity. It’s almost poetic. My commitment and the cathartic effect of telling my tale has really calmed the screams for a creative outlet sounding inside me. I’m out there in some form. Even if it’s an unveiled site on the world wide web, it’s there. I can print it, store it and view it whenever I feel the need to assess my journey. It’s never going to be easy, but I feel warmer knowing anyone out there may come along for the ride.
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